


Duffle Bag Guy

by cablesscutie



Series: AU Please! [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Anxiety, M/M, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-07-12 16:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7113460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cablesscutie/pseuds/cablesscutie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘You keep dragging suspicious sacks up to and down from your apartment and I don’t know what your deal is or why I still wanna bone you’ AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Bag

Duffle Bag Guy has lived down the hall from Bitty for a few months now, and has become a somewhat concerning presence in his life. For one, the guy brings a duffle bag with him almost everywhere. A heavy, lumpy, duffle bag that kinda smells. Bitty can count on his fingers the number of times he’s seen Duffle Bag Guy sans duffle bag. All of those times, Duffle Bag Guy has been in a designer suit that starkly contrasts with his usual sweats and t-shirt. He also has dark bags under his droopy eyes, an almost permanent stubble, and a perpetual frown.

When Eric Bittle left small town Georgia for college, he’d ended up in the equally small Samwell, Massachusetts at the most LGBT+ friendly school in America. After graduation, he’d moved to Providence, Rhode Island after he’d gotten a job in a bakery, and since then he feels that he’s adapted well to city life. He likes the faster pace, the convenient shops, the nightlife. But there are certain parts of city living that are always going to make his little Madison heart seize up. Number one on Eric’s list of Intolerable Urban Phenomena: enigmatic neighbors. He’d been able to name damn near every single person in his hometown, and a good portion of his classmates at Samwell too. But here, in a place where personal space is so much more limited, he’s shocked to find that he can’t match most of the names on the mailboxes to faces in the elevator.

He’d noticed Duffle Bag Guy only because he seemed to wake up at the same ungodly hour that Eric had to be up for work, dragging his smelly bag to the stairwell (twelfth floor, guy takes the stairs). Bitty didn’t always see him around otherwise, but he had a disturbingly regular morning routine for someone who rarely looked dressed for work. Bitty had tried to say hello the first time they’d crossed paths, only to be met with a scowl and stony silence. 

There was one more attempt the first time he saw Duffle Bag Guy in the afternoon. Lardo was visiting, on their way to lunch as Duffle Bag Guy returned, and after Bitty received a scowl and a grunt, Lardo had shoved Bitty into the elevator and asked,

“What the fuck was that?”

“I dunno. Just some guy from my hall. Not very friendly apparently. And he’s always got that bag with him, and I do mean _always_.”

“Dude. Bits.” Lardo pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head like she always did when one of her boys was being a moron. “Don’t talk to that guy, okay? He’s fuckin huge and carries a bag big enough to hide your body in on the reg. So you aren’t gonna bring him a pie and welcome him to the building, you’re just gonna go about your business and never be in the laundry room in the middle of the night, yeah?”

“Lardo, what -”

“I’m from Boston, I know what I’m talking about. Everyone has a weirdo neighbor at some point. You just avoid them.”

“Oh...okay?” Panic gripped at Bitty’s throat. “Do - Do you think he’s dangerous? Should I call somebody?” Lardo sighed.

“No, Bits. If you call somebody to say the guy in your hall is grumpy and carries a weird bag, they’re gonna laugh. And then they’re gonna hang up. Unless he comes home with that thing dripping blood, they don’t give a shit. I don’t know if he’s fucking dangerous. The goal here is to never find out one way or the other.”

“Well...alright.”

“Alright.”

And thus the moniker was born.

Now the only problem with Duffle Bag Guy, apart from being really weird and kind of rude, was that he was actually really hot. Biceps that were big without being freakish, cheekbones that belonged on a magazine cover, and an ass that was - frankly - a work of art. So sometimes, when Bitty got wine drunk by himself on a Friday night (which was honestly not a common occurrence, but happened enough to observe a pattern), he might’ve kind of wondered what Duffle Bag Guy’s deal was, which may have led to occasional wondering what Duffle Bag Guy’s deal looked like (the constant sweatpants gave an extremely frustrating suggestion). On one such Friday night, Bitty managed to snap out of his musings enough to take an interest in his personal safety again and frantically text Lardo for backup.

**EB: Lardo.**

**EB: Lardo answer me.**

**EB: Plz.**

**EB: LARISSA DUAN CHECK YOUR PHONE RN because i think i wanna bone Duffle Bag Guy**

**LD: Bits**

**LD: Bro**

**LD: No**

**LD: Wtf???**

**LD: Ik its been a while but u cant bang duffle bag guy**

**LD: You wanna know why**

**EB: Because I will end up /inside/ the duffle bag?**

**LD: Bingo**

**EB: See I KNOW that**

**EB: That’s why I texted you to snap me tf out of it**

**LD: WELL SNAP THE FUCK OUT OF IT BEFORE “BITS” BECOMES MORE THAN A NICKNAME**

**LD: AS IN**

**LD: YOUR STATE OF MATTER**

**EB: “Bits” is not a state of matter Lardo.**

**EB: Did you not take high school chemistry?**

**LD: I take it back u should totes give DBG ur number**

**EB: The urge is gone. I live another day.**

Bitty came tearing out of his apartment Monday morning, running late, and ran smack into Duffle Bag Guy. He stumbled back, shaking it off, and already apologizing before the guy could really take in the sight of him.

“Oh goodness, I am so sorry! I’m running late and I guess I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you alright?” Bitty wanted to kick himself for that last part. Of course the guy was fine. He was tiny and this guy was, while not the biggest guy Bitty had ever seen, was still rather large. Much to Bitty’s surprise, when he got the courage to look up to Duffle Bag Guy’s face, he was wearing the ghost of a grin.

“It’s cool. I’m fine.” Duffle Bag Guy had an accent that Bitty couldn’t quite place and a warm, deep voice. It was shockingly nice-sounding. Duffle Bag Guy gracefully steps around Bitty and continues on to the stairwell just as he does every morning.

**EB: DBG /SMILED/ AT ME**

**LD: WTFFFFF????**

The next time Bitty talked to Duffle Bag Guy was the night of Ransom’s birthday party. He was waiting for the elevator when a shadow fell over him, and he turned to see Duffle Bag Guy in one of his rare suits and wearing that same ghost of a smile.

“Um - Ah - Going down?” Bitty asked, flinching a little at how high his voice came out. Duffle Bag Guy didn’t really seem to notice though and just nodded. When the elevator dinged open, they both stepped inside and Bitty tried to figure out what was a respectable distance without screaming “please don’t stuff me in your murder bag.” They rode down to the lobby in silence, and when the doors slid open again, Duffle Bag Guy gestured for Bitty to step out first. Bitty flashed him a quick smile of thanks, and then proceeded to be hyper aware of the guy following him out of the building. He located Lardo’s station waggon easily since Ransom and Holster had clearly started the party early and the car was vibrating as it idled. Duffle Bag Guy headed the other way and then stopped to unlock a blue SUV and get behind the wheel.

Bitty climbed into the passenger seat and Lardo raised her eyebrows at him questioningly.

“Was that Duffle Bag Guy?” of course that’s when Ransom and Holster decided to stop playing DJ, and they immediately jumped all over Bitty demanding, 

“What guy? There’s a guy? Way to go, Bits!”

“Deets, bruh! Gimme them deets!”

“No deets!” Lardo called them off with an impatient wave of her arm. “Duffle Bag Guy is Bitty’s weirdo neighbor.”

“He always has a duffle bag. Unless he’s in a suit. Like tonight.” Bitty explained.

“That’s all you know about him?” Ransom asked, probably already drafting a spreadsheet on his phone.

“Well I know he has an accent. I couldn’t tell where from though, he’s only said four words to me. And I guess now we know he drives a Mom car.”

“Hmmm...very interesting. Keep us updated.”

“And if you stop Tweeting we’re calling SWAT,” Holster chimed in.

Bitty’s wasn’t even remotely expecting it the next time he and Duffle Bag Guy spoke. He was out on the town with the whole gang since Shitty finally wrapped up his spring semester at Harvard and had time to breathe. The club was loud and packed beyond belief, and it took Bitty almost fifteen minutes to fight his way to the bar to order. While he was waiting for his drink, he noticed that the guy standing next to him was oddly familiar, and studied his profile trying to place him. He stared too long, and the guy turned to look at him, and he startled when he recognized Duffle Bag Guy. This was the first indication that his neighbor led any kind of normal life. He also looked simultaneously more exhausted and happier than Eric could remember seeing him.

“Hi!” He greeted, trying to play off his surprise with enthusiasm.

“Oh, hey!”

“Um, I’m Eric, I live down the hall from you.”

“Yeah, I recognize you.” Duffle Bag Guy huffed a soft laugh, a smirk curling over his lips.

“You do?”

“I mean, I only see you every morning. And I’m Jack.” _Jack_ held out his hand, and Bitty shook it carefully. What a strange way to meet your neighbor of six months. Someone bumped into Bitty from behind and sent him stumbling towards Jack, who caught Bitty’s elbow.

“Sorry,” they both apologized at the same time.

“You’re Canadian!” Eric put together immediately.

“What?” Jack looked confused.

“Uh. Um, I...I couldn’t tell where your accent was from, but...you’re Canadian, right?”

“Oh. Yeah. I am.”

“Ah.” Bitty glanced around to see if the bartender was on his way with a drink yet, but upon realizing that he was going to have to wait beside his strange neighbor a little longer, he fell back on the southern tradition: small talk. “It’s certainly busy out tonight, I wonder what’s got people so excited?” Jack smiled his widest smile yet.

“The Falconers just won the Stanley Cup.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yup. Just a few hours ago actually. I think some of the players are here actually.”

“Well that sure explains the crowd. So...you’re a hockey fan?”

“You could say that, yeah. I’m guessing you not so much?” Bitty laughed.

“I see the Winter Olympics games, but I mostly just watch that for the figure skating.”

“Figure skating?”

“I used to compete when I was a kid. Not very high level, but I made Southern Junior Regionals a few years.”

“I bet you were great,” Jack said. Bitty blushed a little and floundered for a moment, which Jack seemed to find amusing. Luckily his drink came and he was saved, waving goodbye and disappearing back into the crowd with a,

“My friends are waiting, but I’ll see you around!” He barely had a chance to catch the answering nod and wave before the dance floor swallowed him up again.

A few months later, the elevator broke down, and Bitty had to take the stairs back up to his apartment after work. His feet were already sore from being on his feet baking all day, and he allowed himself a pathetic whine before he started the climb. 

He was ten floors up when he heard the sniffling and hitched breaths. There was a moment’s hesitation when he wanted to turn back and give this person their privacy, but the thought of backtracking only to have to make the walk all the way up later made him want to cry too. It didn’t have to be awkward though, as long as Eric just kept walking. That’s how folks did it in the big city. Just pretend nobody else exists.

Except when he reached his floor, it wasn’t a nameless stranger sat outside the door with his knees pulled to his chest. It was Jack, and when he heard Bitty’s footsteps approaching, he looked up and seemed to scramble for some way to explain it away, but Bitty was already moving to kneel beside him. 

“Jack, what’s wrong?” Jack took a moment before he was able to choke out an answer.

“I - don’t - I’m...lonely. I guess. I don’t know.”

“Well then step one: come with me.” Bitty stood up and offered a hand to Jack, and was surprised when it was accepted. “Step two: I’m gonna get you a slice of pie and a cup of coffee.” Bitty led a still sniffling, but no longer actively crying Jack into his apartment and got him settled at the kitchen table before popping the half an apple pie on the counter back in the oven to warm and starting the coffee maker. When Bitty took the seat beside Jack at the little round table, Jack looked up from where he’d been focused on his hands to say,

“Thank you, Eric. You really don’t have to -”

“Oh hush. I know you are not about to suggest I just leave you by yourself. There is no way I was going to let you be sad and alone out there.”

“Well I appreciate it.” Bitty patted him on the arm.

“It’s no trouble at all.” The oven beeped and Bitty stood to retrieve and serve the pie and then fetched mugs and cream and sugar. “Here, eat this. I’ve yet to find someone who can be truly miserable while eating one of my maple apple pies.”

“Maple apple?” Jack perked up a little, and Bitty laughed softly.

“Yes, you heard me right. I press maple sugar into the crust.” Jack picked his fork up and dug in, moaning when the first of the filling hit his tongue. He opened his eyes and looked over to Bitty.

“This is really good pie.” Bitty’s laugh came out closer to a giggle and he could feel his cheeks warming.

“Why thank you. Now, I don’t want to pry, but are you going to tell me why you’re lonely?” Bitty is confused when the first thing Jack says is,

“Remember how I said I’m kind of a hockey fan?” But then the whole story comes pouring out. How he plays for the Falconers, (“Oh, hockey gear! That’s your _gear bag_!” “Yeah?” “Funny story, tell you later.”) and winning the Cup is all he’s wanted his whole life, but now he’s achieved his life dream and the season is over, and he’s twenty six years old and has no idea what to do with the rest of his life, the months until preseason especially. He tells Bitty about how he doesn’t fit in as well with his team as he’d like to and how he’s never really made friends outside the hockey world because hockey is kind of his whole life but he regrets that. Not the hockey part, but how isolated he let himself be. By the end of it, there are tears pricking at Bitty’s eyes, but he blinks them back and takes hold of Jack’s shaking hands instead.

“Well you have me,” Bitty promised. “You’re always welcome here and with my friends.”

“Are...Are you sure?” Jack glanced down at their joined hands and then back up to Bitty’s face.

“Absolutely. Nobody should be on their own, and Jack you are a good person. I can tell.” 

They finish the pie and pot of coffee, Bitty continuing to reassure Jack that he wasn’t a bother and Bitty wanted him to visit again, to meet his friends, to get to know him better. After the dishes are put in the dishwasher, Jack excuses himself, saying that he ought to go call his therapist and tell her what happened.

“If you need anything, Jack,” Bitty reminded him as he was walking him to the door, “just knock. I’ll be here all night.” Jack nods and thinks of how he now has Bitty’s number programmed into his phone, the only contact not belonging to family or a teammate.

Bitty keeps one ear carefully listening for the door and checks his phone regularly, simultaneously hoping that Jack is okay and wishing he’d come back. He’s just cleaning up from dinner when he gets his wish. There are three short raps at the door, and Bitty tosses his dish towel onto the table in his hurry to answer it. When he opens the door, Jack is standing there, looking sheepish, but no worse for wear. The bags under his eyes actually look lighter, so he might’ve even gotten in a nap, and he generally looks much better than he had earlier that day.

“Jack? Is everything okay?” Bitty asks anyway. Jack takes a deep breath and says,

“I thought of something else I need.” Bitty’s eyebrows scrunch together in concern.

“What darlin’?” Jack’s cheeks flush, but his gaze is steady on Bitty’s when he asks,

“A date?”


	2. The Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty and Jack go to dinner. SMH has Concerns about this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has been such a long time coming, but the third chapter is completely written and will 100% be posted within the week. The video link Holster sends is to a crime drama recommended via SkyHighFan - thanks! Figured I'd include it for others to enjoy!

Bitty says yes to the date, and by the time Jack is waving awkwardly and backing towards his own apartment, they have plans for Saturday night. After returning to his dishes in a daze, he starts to mull over the evening in earnest. Duffle Bag Guy is not a murderer, but in fact a professional hockey player. Duffle Bag Guy’s name is Jack. Jack is a very sweet, if socially awkward guy. Jack asked him out. Bitty has a date with an adorable professional athlete. Bitty is so far out of his depth.

He instinctively opens his text conversation with Lardo, prepared to info-dump the entire afternoon before he realizes two reasons that that is probably a bad idea.

1: As of that morning, Ransom and Holster were still debating whether Ted Cruz or Duffle Bag Guy were the Zodiac Killer, with Lardo herself chiming in her theory that it was a mantle passed down over time, and that they could in fact _both_ be the Zodiac Killer.

2: If Bitty’s never heard of Jack Zimmermann before, there’s a good chance the guy is still in the closet, and Bitty would never out somebody, even to someone trustworthy.

So he puts his phone back in his pocket and dries the dishes quickly, stacks them before scrolling through comments on his latest vlog until his eyelids start to droop.

He wakes to sunlight streaming in his bedroom windows, and his cell phone vibrating and pinging on the nightstand as the group chat lights up.

**SMH 2014-2015**

**JO: BITTY**

**JO: BRUHHHHH**

**AB: ANSWER USSSSSS**

**AB: and check out this link: http://vidzi.tv/8akl9fu611tr.html**

**AB: it’s from this true crime show where this lady used to kill guys and…**

**JO: *dun dun duuuuun***

**AB: HIDE THE BODIES IN HOCKEY BAGS**

**EB: y’all used to stuff me in a hockey bag before every game, is there something i should know?**

**LD: they’re talking about dbg**

**BK: ???**

**LD: bitty’s weird neighbor i told you abt?**

**BK: FUUUUUUCK**

**BK: BITS YOU GOTTA STEER CLEAR OF THAT CRAZY MOTHERFUCKER**

**Jack**

**JZ: Hi, Bitty. Just wanted to make sure 6 still works for you?**

Bitty stares at the two most recent notifications, briefly allowing himself to feel personally victimized by the universe. So, yeah...definitely not telling anyone just yet.

**Jack**

**EB: still perfect!**

**JZ: :-)**

**SMH 2014-2015**

**EB: haha, don’t worry, i’m gonna be just fine**

He tries to keep himself occupied throughout the day, stress baking up a fresh maple apple pie (that he is totally not thinking of inviting Jack in for after dinner, nope, not at all) and the mini pies he’d promised for the local youth hockey club’s bake sale. He’s well into brainstorming for next week’s vlog by the time the alarm on his phone reminds him it’s time to get ready for his date. Jack is, blessedly, not of the opinion that romance requires the element of surprise, so Bitty already knows where they’re going and was able to look it up and plan his outfit ahead of time. All that’s really left to do is take a shower and hope that his hair cooperates when he blow dries it.

With the exception of a particularly stubborn cowlick, his hair submits to brush and product, and the clothes he picked the night before are still crisp and clean - no mysterious wrinkles or stains to be seen. There’s not even time for his usual harried pacing, because his phone pings, and it’s Jack, asking

**JZ: Is it okay if I come over now? I got ready too early.**

**EB: That’s fine! I just got finished too :)**

It’s less than a minute before there’s a knock on Eric’s front door. When he opens it, Jack is smiling down at him, looking a little embarrassed but uncontainably excited. It’s an infectious thing, and Eric feels a pleasant hum under his skin, fingers itching to reach out and take Jack’s hand. 

“Hi,” he greets, cheeks warm.

“Hi.” Jack keeps staring at him. When he’d googled Jack a little bit last night, he’d seen him described as “intense” quite a few times. Eric had figured they just meant about hockey, which, considering his dad’s legacy and his own anxiety, made perfect sense. It seems now that perhaps Jack is just this way about everything. He doesn’t think he’d mind getting used to this kind of attention.

“So…” he clears his throat. “You - Um, you’re ready to go?”

“Ready when you are,” Jack says, still looking, still smiling.

“I’m ready.” Jack’s smile widens just a bit, showing a hint of teeth.

“Alright then.” He steps aside for Bitty to step through the door and join him in the hallway, and when he goes to lock the apartment door, Eric can feel Jack warm beside him. Eric calls the elevator for them, and they ride down side by side in comfortable silence. Bitty sways into Jack, bumping him with his shoulder and flashing him a grin. When the doors open up to the lobby, Jack reaches for Bitty’s hand, and their fingers tangle together. Jack’s hands are large and rough from years of handling hockey sticks, but they fit together so well, and Eric can’t help but think that it’s a good sign.

They’re early for their reservation, so they bypass Jack’s car and stroll towards the restaurant downtown, joined hands swinging loosely between them. As they walk down the street, passing evening joggers and other groups headed out for their own dinners, Bitty’s a little nervous about people noticing them, but after a few blocks he relaxes. If Jack had a problem with people knowing about them he wouldn’t have asked Bitty to go somewhere so public, he wouldn’t be holding his hand.

“You okay?” Jack asks, giving Bitty’s hand a little tug to pull him out of the path of a tree branch. He shakes himself out of is thoughts and turns a smile on Jack.

“Oh yeah, I’m good. My thoughts just…” Bitty wiggles his fingers in a vague gesture. “Wandered off. Sorry ‘bout that.”

“No, no, you’re fine. Just checking in.” 

“Alrighty then. Thanks for checking.” Jack smiles back at him.

“Can I ask where they wandered off to?” Bitty bites his lip, and pauses for a moment before he tells Jack,

“I was just thinking that I’m really glad we’re out tonight.” Jack probably sees through it, but he doesn’t press to find out what Bitty had really been thinking about, just lets them continue their walk. 

The restaurant Jack chose is inside an old mill building, which seems strange at first, and Eric has a brief panic that he’s about to be served a deconstructed salad in a mason jar. From the inside, it makes sense though, and as he looks around it seems to be a perfectly normal Italian restaurant. The food smells delicious, and is in fact served on white dinner plates that are unremarkable apart from their size. The building itself makes it feel much less claustrophobic than the places Eric’s visited in the North End of Boston. The tables have space to weave between easily, and the windows and ceilings are high. It makes sense that Jack would frequent perhaps the only independent restaurant in New England that seems to be constructed with personal space in mind.

“So,” Jack starts, finger playing with the water droplets his glass had left on the table. “Um, Bitty, can I ask you something?” There’s suddenly a nervous rush in his veins, but Bitty nods.

“Of course, what’s on your mind?”

“What - Euh, the other day you mentioned something about a long story?”

“Hm?”

“About my gear bag?”

“Oh!” Bitty feels his face flush. “Well, I - It’s silly, but. So, you know how I didn’t know who you were?”

“Yes?” Jack’s eyebrows scrunch together, and Bitty feels just about ready to die of embarrassment.

“Well, see...before I knew that you do what you do...I thought you were a little strange?”

“Strange? How so?”

“Oh just...Well the odd hours, and the giant bag, and the suits? Like sometimes you’d be leaving at five in the morning wearing a suit and then I wouldn’t see you for like a week?”

“We had roadies.”

“Well I know that _now_ , but before…”

“What did you _think_ I did?” Jack just looks outright baffled now, and Bitty looks up at the ceiling, hoping that maybe if he wishes hard enough God will strike him down and he won’t have to finish this explanation. He got a date with a gorgeous pro athlete, so he can die now and both his parents will be happy.

“Well, there were multiple theories between me and my friends.” An amused smile starts breaking over Jack’s face. “There’s definitely some money on whether you’re a mob enforcer? Um. Or the Zodiac Killer?”

“A mob enforcer?” Jack is definitely struggling not to laugh, which is simultaneously better and worse than his total poker face.

“Yeah, like” Bitty leans over the table and whispers “whacking people.”

“I mean, not exactly. Sorry to disappoint, but I’m not even an enforcer on the ice. I play center.” 

“I notice you’re not disputing the Zodiac Killer.” Jack actually does laugh at that. It’s fuller than Bitty expected it to be. When he really lets himself go, his bangs bounce to the same rhythm as his shoulders are shaking, and a slight flush spreads across his cheeks. It’s cute as hell and Bitty’s poor gay heart cannot handle this.

After the waitress takes their order, Jack clears his throat and asks, “Um, so do your friends know who I am now?”

“You mean do they know we’re on a date? Because they definitely know who _you_ are. They do _not_ know who my neighbor is, and I certainly wasn’t going to say anything about a date as long as they’re convinced you’re a murderer.”

“So, your friends are hockey fans?”

“Oh lord, _huge_. They’re all my old teammates from when I played at Samwell.”

“You played hockey?”

“Right wing, all four years.” Bitty smiles proudly.

“But you don’t follow the NHL?”

“Well I suppose I will now, but originally? Nope. I caught a flyers game here and there. We went to a Bruins game once, but I just never really had time for all those games. Plus I’m from Georgia, so I was raised on football.”

“Maybe you’ll have to come see a Falcs game soon.” Bitty’s heart stutters in his chest, because their entrees aren’t even here yet but it sounds like Jack is talking about a second date, and good _lord_ this boy will be the end of him. “You could bring your friends too.”

“Oh they would just die. I think Ransom might literally have a coronary if he got to see Alexei Mashkov in the flesh.”

“I could get you guys locker room passes,” Jack offers, smiling like he’s already picturing the scene. 

“Are you serious? You really don’t have to do any of that.”

“I want to. We’re allowed to give out tickets, and other than when my parents come down, I never really have anyone to invite. I think management would just be happy that I’m getting a life. Plus I really need to make sure your friends don’t think I’m going to murder you.”

“Well thank you, Jack. That’s very sweet of you. The passes, not the not-murdering me thing.” Bitty starts telling Jack stories about the boys and all the ridiculous things they used to get up to when they all lived in the hockey Haus. By the time their food arrives, Jack is in stitches over the colorful description of the truly unique character that is Shitty.

“Let me tell you, you have not lived until you’ve gotten a lecture about intersectional feminism from a man in a NASCAR shirt using two empty kegs as a podium.”

Jack, for his part, had plenty of good stories about his own teammates, and even a couple real doozies about his parents of all people. “My dad took me and Kent on a camping trip, and I legitimately thought I was going to be eaten alive by bears. And don’t even get me started on the fishing trip with Marty and Thirdy. It was just a freaking salmon, but apparently they’ve been going to that place for years and this same fish keeps getting the better of them, so by the time I went, they were like full Ahab about it. I half expected someone to come up with a harpoon.” Bitty chokes on his wine and giggles into the glass. 

By the time they finish their dinner, they’ve still got a good volley of stories going, bouncing between years and years of living with a bunch of ridiculous bros and Bitty’s endless extended family. Bitty is in the middle of the great Jam Feud of 2015 when the check comes and Jack suggests they take a walk and find somewhere to pick up dessert. Without thinking, Bitty offers,

“I just made a blueberry pie earlier today. Do you wanna come back for a slice?” As soon as he hears how that sounds, he feels the tips of his ears start to burn and his palms start to sweat. He hopes Jack doesn’t notice as he reaches idly for Bitty’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Sounds good to me, Anyway, I think Starbucks may be the only thing left open this late.”

“That is not dessert, Mr. Zimmermann. Starbucks pastries are _maybe_ a step up from eating Fruit Loops for breakfast.” Jack nods.

“Noted.”

Bitty lets Jack into his apartment and tells him to make himself at home in the living room while Bitty goes and cuts two slices of pie and sets them to warm. He pokes his head back into the living room to find Jack sitting on his sofa, hands folded in his lap, staring out the window.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Jack startles a little.

“Oh, um…”

“I have milk, coffee, tea…”

“Do you have sleepy time tea?” he asks, a bit sheepishly, but Bitty smiles bobs his head.

“That I do. Comin’ right up.”

“Thank you.” Bitty grabs the pie and a couple of forks after he sets the kettle to boil and heads back to sit with Jack, passing off a plate as he sits down.

Jack takes a bite of pie, and his eyes fall closed, a happy rumbling sound coming from deep in his chest. “That’s really good pie,” he says when he looks at Bitty again, who’s desperately trying not to blush.

“Why thank you. It’s Shitty’s favorite, so don’t tell him I gave you any.”

“My lips are sealed.” Jack makes a little zipping motion, and it’s so unexpectedly adorable, Bitty laughs at him. 

“I can’t wait for you to meet the guys, I think y’all are gonna get along like a house on fire.”

“You should text them, I want to hear what they have to say about your date with the Zodiac Killer.”

“Oh lord, are you sure you’re ready to see the group chat in action? It’s pretty intense.”

“Bring it on.”

“You asked for it.”

**SMH 2014-2015**

**EB: so...there’s a new development in the DBG situation.**

“DBG? Do I want to know what that means?”

“Duffle Bag Guy. It’s not very original.”

**LD: WHAT HAPPENED**

**LD: ARE YOU OKAY???**

**BK: holy motherfuck bits tell us you’re not IN the bag**

**EB: I am not in the bag.**

**EB: But I know what’s in the bag.**

**JO: I CAN CALL THE COPS RN**

**JO: HOLSTER GET THE CAR**

**EB: NONONO! He’s nice!**

**EB: The bag is his gear bag**

**AB: yeah his MURDERING gear**

**EB: HOCKEY GEAR**

**EB: because he plays HOCKEY**

**EB: for the Falconers**

**AB: …**

**LD: bro r u sure about that?**

**BK: yeah brah. Like i trust you with my life but you don’t know shit about the NHL**

**EB: google images confirmed it, he’s legit.**

**JO: IS IT ALEXEI MASHKOV?**

**JO: BITS PLEASE TELL ME YOU LIVE NEXT TO ALEXEI MASHKOV**

**EB: He is not Alexei Mashkov. Rans, I lived with you for two years, I know what he looks like.**

**AB: Then WHO THE FUCK IS IT**

**BK: DEETS BRAH**

**EB: Do y’all know who Jack Zimmermann is?**

**BK: OF FUCKING COURSE I DO**

**BK: THAT FUCKING ADONIS OF A MAN**

**BK: I LOVE HIM MORE THAN I LOVE MY STACHE**

**JO: Dude he’s like one of the best players in the NHL rn**

**AB: And the subject of quite a bit of slash fic alongside one Kent Parson**

**LD: Dude Zimmermann’s face is plastered all over that town, how did you not know he was DBG**

**EB: I DON’T KNOW LARISSA**

**LD: Bro you took years off my life talking about this guy**

**EB: I know, I know, I’m sorry for worrying y’all.**

**EB: But if you can forgive me, Jack offered tickets to the game this weekend while we were at dinner.**

**AB: YOU ATE DINNER WITH JACK ZIMMERMANN**

**BK: YOU CAN’T EVEN PROPERLY APPRECIATE A MAN LIKE THAT**

**EB: Trust me, I can. I have eyes.**

“Um. Wow.” Jack blinks at Bitty. “They’re...a lot.”

“I tried to warn you.”

“Like I think these guys make the Falcs look pretty chill.”

“This is our old chat from my Sophomore year, so everybody’s known way too much about each other for way too long.” Bitty shoots him a mischievous grin. “Watch this though.”

**SMH 2014-2015**

**EB: Now you’ll have to excuse Jack and I to finish our date.**

Bitty puts his phone down on the coffee table and walks away to fix the tea. Jack stares at the device as it starts vibrating urgently. It’s about to fall off the edge of the table when Bitty sets their mugs down and scoops it up, swiping a couple times until the buzzing stops.

“Do not disturb is a beautiful thing.” Jack picks up the mug that was set in front of him and blows at the steaming liquid. He’s feeling more relaxed just smelling the tea and feeling the warm ceramic under his hands. Plus the plush cushions of Bitty’s couch and the warm tones of his voice, his eyelids start to droop after a little bit more idle chatter. When Bitty notices, he reaches out and rests a hand on Jack’s wrist. “Hey, are you falling asleep on me there?” he asks.

“Oh, uh. Sorry, I didn’t mean to. I’m just getting a little too relaxed.”

“Well maybe we oughtta call it a night then? I don’t wanna keep you up.” Jack smiles and sets the last of his tea down so he can take Bitty’s hand.

“You’re not keeping me up, I want to talk to you more.” A yawn cuts him off, stretching his mouth wide until his jaw pops. “But unfortunately that might not happen.” Bitty laughs, a gentle thing, and squeezes Jack’s fingers.

“Well then it’s a good thing we’ll be seeing each other soon then. There’s plenty of time to hear all my stories. Trust me, the family just keeps ‘em coming.” Jack smiles.

“Good. I hope they do.”

Bitty walks Jack to his front door and when Jack finishes unlocking his door, Bitty reaches up and tugs at his sleeve, going up on tiptoe to meet him in a kiss goodnight, lips brushing warm and soft over each other, catching just a hint.

“Goodnight, Jack. Thank you for a lovely night.”

“Thank you. I’m really glad I get to see you again.”

“Charmer.”

“Goodnight, Bitty.” After Jack’s door clicked shut, Bitty made his way back down the hall to his place, leaning against the shut door with a dreamy sigh.


	3. SMH @ PVD

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Samwell Men's Hockey takes Providence

The night of the game is absolute bedlam. Ransom and Holster and Lardo and Shitty all drive down together from Boston, crammed into Shitty’s hatchback. They had come down early enough to grab burgers before game time, but after realizing that they couldn’t take the car with them unless someone would volunteer to DD and Holster had circled the block six times to find street parking, they couldn’t go to the burger place, because it’s the opposite direction of the arena. Which means that their previous deliberations about dinner are moot and they have to start the whole debate over again.

Eventually it’s decided that they’ll stop at the second best Chinese place because it’s the closest that won’t already be overrun by out-of-towners getting ready for the game. Ordering is another whole fiasco and reminds Bitty acutely why they hardly ever go out for Chinese food: combo platters. Ransom has to pull up Excel on his phone, but finally everyone gets at least their second choice of rice or noodles, they calculate how many orders of egg rolls and crab rangoon they need, and Bitty can breathe. While they stuff their faces, the boys (and Lardo) try to grill Bitty for all the details of his date with Jack. Bitty just smiles into his tea and tells them,

“Dinner was lovely. He’s a very nice young man.”

“But Bits we need _deets_.”

“Seriously, bro, you’re gonna be feeling up the best ass in the NHL on the reg. You owe us this info.”

“Best ass in the NHL? Even better than Alexei Mashkov?” Bitty teases.

“The charts don’t lie,” Ransom says solemnly.

“Well honestly, there isn’t much to tell besides that. We really did just get dinner. He came back for a slice of pie, but he went home right after.”

“Bro.”

“Sorry boys, I’m old fashioned.”

 

The seats Jack got them were great, just behind the glass and looking out towards center ice. As Holster so helpfully points out,

“If someone gets checked hard enough to break the glass they might _fall on us_.” Which Ransom follows up with an awed whisper of,

“I hope Alexei Mashkov falls on me.”

Alexei Mashkov does not, in fact, fall on them, but he and Jack skate up to the glass during warmups and wave at them, Jack sporting a shy smile and pink cheeks. The boys look like children about to go to Disneyworld, and even Lardo looks grudgingly impressed.

“Hm,” she muses. “You know, when these morons used to fawn all over Zimmermann, I never really got what was so special about this one specific white dude. But it almost makes sense when he smiles. Well done, Bits.” Bitty smiles to himself. Lardo never thinks any of Bitty’s boyfriends are good enough for him, and he flat out cracks up when the goal buzzer sounds and she shouts, “Look at that fuckin slapshot!” Shitty practically tumbles into her lap in excitement.

 

The Falcs win 3-1 in regulation, and when they make their way towards the locker room to pick up Jack, spirits are high. Even Bitty, with his lack of NHL knowledge, managed to get swept up. He can feel his face flushed from yelling, and he rakes his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame where it’s started sticking up from Shitty and Holster’s rather physical displays of excitement during tense moments or clutch plays. He’s pretty sure that it’s only the overwhelming awe of being about to meet their idols that’s keeping the chirping at bay, but he’ll take the reprieve while he can get it.

As soon as the guys get inside the locker room it pretty much dissolves into madness. The Falcs are all tripping over themselves trying to get a look at Bitty and shouting over each other to chirp Jack, who’s standing by his stall, trying to tug a t-shirt on over his head and maybe sink into the floor. He turns and catches Bitty’s eyes, smiling ruefully.

“Sorry,” he mouths.” Bitty rolls his eyes, nodding to where Ransom has already harangued Tater.

“Justin Oluransi, would you let the man put some pants on?” he hollers over.

“Is okay, itty Bitty!” Tater calls back. He shimmies a bit, the towel flapping enough to make Bitty fear for its “Am enjoying freedom! Is why I come to America, yes?”

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, shaking his head, but Shitty leaps over a bench to slap Tater on the back and declare, “That’s precisely it! This man gets it!” Ransom on the other hand looks like he’s having an full core meltdown as Tater tosses a massive arm around his shoulders and starts telling a story. Holster is shaking hands with Marty and Thirdy, eyes the size of moons, but otherwise keeping his chill alright. Lardo wanders off to talk to Snowy.

“Dude just played a full game and his eyeliner’s still on point. I gotta find out what brand he wears.”

All of this leaves Jack and Bitty staring at each other from across the chaos. They gravitate towards each other, meeting in the middle, and Jack’s arm open to pull Bitty into a hug. He falls into it easily, enjoying the fresh smell of Jack’s soap and the cool brush of damp hair against his arms.

“So it looks like your friends are having a terrible time,” Jack says with a grin.

“Oh yeah, and yours looks like they can’t wait to get out of here.”

“Really this is just going terribly.”

“Should probably cut our losses now then.”

“Wouldn’t want to get invested in a lost cause, eh?” Bitty laughs.

“I’d say getting invested in lost causes is sort of my hobby.”

Ransom spins Bitty around just as he’s stepping out of Jack’s embrace, and grips him by the shoulders.

“Bro. Alexei Mashkov just invited us to get drinks with the team. We can go, right? Please? Also he told me to call him Tater. _Tater_ , Bits!”

“I think it’s tater _tots_ ,” Jack said, sounding very proud of himself for making a joke.

“Yes, of course we can go with them,” Bitty said. “And Ransom, this is Jack. Jack, Ransom.”

“Sick game, man,” Rans says, shaking Jack’s hand. “Totally sw’awesome.”

“Haha, thanks.”

“Ransom, can you go collect Holster, we should probably get out of here so the boys can finish getting dressed if we’re going out.”

“Oh! Yeah for sure, for sure. I’ll just go -” he pointed over his shoulder and started weaving towards Holster.

“Confession: I don’t think they’re ever gonna leave. Rans is gonna wanna talk Thirdy’s ear off, and Shitty hasn’t even met you yet, and good lord, you may never escape him.”

“Yeah?”

“His appreciation of your skills has been frequent and profane. I’d imagine he has a few things to say to you. They may involve talking about your ass.”

“Bitty! Bitty, are you gonna introduce me to this Canadian adonis?”

“Right on cue.” Bitty turns and says, “Come on, come on. Jack, this is Shitty. Shitty, this is Jack.”

“Brah, I can’t believe Bitty didn’t recognize you. I mean, I only spent half his undergrad telling him you’re a hockey god.”

“Well, you never included pictures!”

“You should have _known_! Eric Richard Bittle, I am very disappointed in you. Fuckin’ beautiful goal tonight, brah. Seriously, I would marry your slapshot if I could.” Bitty fully expects Jack to look completely weirded out by this declaration, but instead he actually chuckles. Like, shoulders shaking a little and droopy eyes crinkling at the corners and everything. Because Jack Zimmermann is full of surprises apparently.

“Thanks. It’s nice to meet you too, Bitty’s told me a lot of stories.” At that, Shitty is, for once in his life, struck dumb. With Shitty rendered speechless, it’s much easier to round everyone up. Holster drags Ransom over, and Lardo is easily detached from her conversation with Guy. After hearing that they didn’t bring a car with them, Jack offers everyone a ride to the team’s favorite bar on the other side of town from the arena. This brings on another wave of hysteria because apparently Tater and Jack carpool, and the boys get to fight over who gets to sit next to him. Holster is mortally offended that Ransom wants to ditch him as seat buddies for the ride home, and Shitty decides to really try Bitty’s patience by calling dibs on shotgun.

As such, Lardo gets stuck in the very back seat, squished between the disgruntled duo of Holster and Bitty. They share put out looks over the top of her head as they watch their respective partners get easily distracted by new company. Jack meets Bitty’s eyes in the rearview mirror at a red light, and smiles, and - well, Moomaw did always say Jesus would want him to forgive people for their transgressions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with me to the end! Sorry the game sequence is so short, I only have vague ideas of how hockey games really work.

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is much appreciated! If you have any thoughts you would like to share (any at all, seriously) just post a comment- I'd love to hear from you. Or, you can come join me on tumblr as latticeontop!


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